


Once Upon a Time

by blakefancier



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake's life as a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time

How are these stories supposed to begin? It was a dark and stormy night--no. No, I think, once upon a time. Yes, I like that.

Once upon a time there was a man who killed everything he had ever loved. Or was it that he loved everything he killed? I get confused; it's such a fine line. Avon might know, but Avon isn't speaking to me.

This man fought long and hard. He fought and died, several times if that's to be believed. Yet death would not keep him, though he was bone-weary.

His last death was a betrayal. But whether he was the betrayer or was betrayed is debatable.

When he woke from his last death, it was not from the kiss of his One True Love but from Medicine and Technology. No, it was not very romantic. Waking from the dead is never romantic, not really.

But his One True Love (or at least his Last Good Fuck) was by his side. That is something, I suppose. This was not your standard romantic reunion. There were no hugs, no kisses, no tears or expressions of undying love. They did not run off into the sunset together or marry under a bright blue sky. There was only the quiet hiss of oxygen, the beep of machines, and the dark steady gaze of the man's companion.

Betrayer and betrayed.

They stared at one another, as if to forge a connection. They stared until the man's eyelids grew heavy and he closed his eyes.

As he drifted off to sleep his companion, his One True Love (his Last Good Fuck), spoke in a shattered voice.

"I'll never forgive you, Blake."

Later, when the man woke, his bedside was empty and his chest ached. The words that had been spoken the night before were like a shard in his heart. Ice, he would have said, for it made him cold. But maybe it was glass, for it never melted and it cut each time he breathed.

The man learned to live with the pain, eventually. He locked his Happily-Ever-After in a box and placed it in a tower. And he forgot about it, or pretended to forget. It really wasn't that difficult, he had enough practice.

And he went on.

Once upon a time, one dark and stormy night.


End file.
